Date: Mon, 4 Sep 1995 02:47:52 -0400 From: Patricia Hanlan Subject: A Parent's Dilemma Hi again! This is a sequal to "A Parent's Duty". I warn you that it has not seen an editor besides myself (I wanted to get it out before the term began). Jocelyn does not make an appearance, though she is the motivating factor for the whole situation. She is a much happier camper than this story called for. This is mostly supposed to answer the question "What would happen if Nick agreed to go back to LaCroix for ten days?". The X-files-like scene changes are mostly there for me to keep track of things. They stuck <:) More disclaimers: Please excuse amy glaring errors in my specific geography of New York and Toronto. I can drive in T.O., but have forgotten the names of all north-south roads between Bay and Spadina. Also, anything said, correct or other wise, about plays currently running in NYC come, over the phone from my sister. She has no email address. You can't flame her. A Parent's Dilemma by Patricia Hanlan *Toronto, June 18, 3 a.m. The man walked down Queen street, his shoes silent on the damp sidewalk. Even in the deepest hours of the misty night, neon lights still lay splashes of colour on the sidewalk. Groups of teenagers, dressed in the latest fashion, stood in doorways, smoking, trying to prove their hipness to someone, anyone, who would watch. No one bothered the man walking down the street, earphones on his head, walkman in his hand. His eyes looked a little too glazed, his step a little too unsteady. If anyone would have been close, they would have heard his mumblings. "I will kill them. They must die. They don't understand, but I do. I know everything that happens in the night, for I am the Nightcrawler" *Toronto, June 18, 4 a.m. Natalie did not have an excuse for her visit to the precinct tonight. Most of the people working didn't seem to care. Apparently the after-club brawls had been busier than usual tonight. The front of the precinct was littered with young bodies sprawled over the chairs, black eyes and attitudes dueling for what would get noticed first. Nick and Schanke were at their desk, doing the "paperwork" thing. Filling in reports is the part of the job that any cop would complain about first, and any spouse would like them to do everyday. Nat was here for only one reason. Exactly two weeks ago, Nick had bought the freedom of his daughter Jocelyn from LaCroix. LaCroix had not known of Jocelyn's existence for almost 500 years, but when he did, he caught up with a vengeance. He had killed Jocelyn's husband when they were in Toronto to bring her out in the open, and to see how Nick would react. Things had gone almost to plan: Nick had fully accepted his daughter again, even if they hadn't spoken a word to one another since the early 1500's, and LaCroix had threatened to take her as his own unless Nick agreed to his terms. Nick had given in easily to his demands, not willing to risk his daughter's safety. Nat had been upset about his capitulance, but gave up her anger with a brand of humor only a coroner could understand. "You know what they say, Sydney" she had told her cat one afternoon, "you can take the man out of the thirteenth century, but you can't take the thirteenth century out of the man." Moving up to Nick's desk, Nat caught Schanke's eye first. He was up to his armpits in files, but flashed a small grin at her and a concerned look at his partner before Nick noticed she was there. His desk was noticeably cleaner than Schanke's. Stacks of files were neatly piled along one side, and his computer was filled with text. "Hey Nick, have you been the report-filing demon tonight, or what?" He flashed her a grin that did not reach his eyes, but kept his tone light, following her lead. "Yep, I think I can say I'm all caught up. A good thing considering I'm going on vacation and everything." "Right. Nick," Natalie perched on his desk and laid a hand on his, "I just came to say good-bye. Make sure you call me when you get back." Nick turned his hand under hers, to grasp her fingers. "You know I will." "Promise me." She was not going to get upset again. He released her hand to reach up to the side of her face. "I promise Nat." Nat leaned down to kiss him, unmindful of his partner's curious stare, then hopped off of his desk and left the station again. Schanke looked at his partner as Natalie left. Nat's worry had been visible for all to see. Schanke hoped that his own was hid under a larger bushel. Nick had been tense ever since the Fletcher case had wrapped up. The young woman who had been involved, Jocelyn Andrews, had left two weeks go, but not before calling Nick "Papa." Schanke was a little fuzzy about what else happened that night -- he felt that everything was a little out of focus, but he did know that something _big_ was keeping his partner strung tight. Nick looked like he hadn't slept well. Maybe he was drinking to much caffeine, not that he drank the awful stuff at the precinct labeled coffee, but he was awful jumpy. Schanke read all his comments about his vacation as a huge front, like when Myra said "Honey, how did you know I wanted a yellow blender for our anniversary?". Schanke had a feeling that his partner was not happy about his upcoming time off. As Schanke was staring across his desk, contemplating the top of his partner'shead, he saw a bit of a ruckus start at the front of the station house. One of the uniforms, passing his desk, commented "I wonder what's up? The world's sharpest limo just pulled up. Maybe one of the Blue Jays needs some parking tickets fixed." Not long after that comment, two things happened: a tall man, dressed in a tux like he was born to it, walked calmly into the precinct, not stopping to ask the desk Sargent for directions, and Nick sat up straight, straightening a second pile of files on his desk, and placing his hands flat on the clean deskin front of him. The tuxedoed man stopped at Nick's desk and held an arm out, palm up. "Come, little one, it is time." Little one? Schanke was waiting to see whatNick was going to say to the arrogant jerk in front of him, but was surprised when no protest came. Nick took a deep breath, and slowly placed his hand in the outstretched one in front of him. It was a curious gesture, making Schanke think of his Jenny, finally giving up and letting him lead her to bed. The stranger used the linked hands to pull Nick around and out of his chair, reaching around to hand him his jacket. Nick took off his gun and locked it in his desk, then took the proffered blazer and put it on over his vest and collarless shirt. He was turning to leave when Schanke stopped him, the clean desk and abandoned weapon fitting like pieces of a puzzle in his brain. "Hey pard." Nick turned. "See ya in a couple of weeks. Don't do anything I wouldn't." Nick gave him a small grin, then left, leading the taller man out of the police station and into the waiting limo. Funny, Schanke thought, I almost recognize that guy he left with. I wonder why he sounds so familiar? *Toronto, June 18, 10 a.m. Nick sat on a chair in a corner of LaCroix's living room. The limo had taken them no further than LaCroix's house before the dawn broke. LaCroix was, puttering I guess was a word for it, putting finishing touches on some packing, sipping occasionally from a glass. There was a glass near Nick's chair, untouched, which LaCroix made no comment on. How did I ever think I could do this? thought Nick. He had promised LaCroix ten days as his son, living with LaCroix like they had centuries ago. He would not directly defy any command LaCroix gave him, but he wasn't going to slip into their old life easily. Nick realized that LaCroix understood this, and was letting the younger vampire make what stands he wanted to, for now. Maybe, mused Nick, this time together would get LaCroix to understand, and accept, what Nick wanted his life to be like. LaCroix stopped what he was doing for a moment, looking at Nicholas with a bit of amusement and a bit of disdain in his eye. Nick realized that LaCroix was calmly tapping into all of his thoughts and emotions, waiting to see what his son's first move was going to be. Apparently seeing something in the set of Nicholas' jaw, LaCroix spoke to him, saying nothing out loud, but letting his words fill his son's head. "I am going to sleep, little one. Feel free to use the couch. We leave at sunset". With that LaCroix left the room, leaving Nick to contemplate the closed curtains. * * * * * *New York City, June 19, 9 a.m. Nick sat on a chair in a corner of the bedroom LaCroix had directed him to, remembering the events of the previous evening. A chartered plane had taken them to La Guardia last night, and a limousine had dropped the off downtown, before taking their bags to an apartment LaCroix had purchased on Park avenue, across from central park. The clothes LaCroix had given him felt like they were made by his tailor. In fact, Nick thought that they were probably from his own closet. The two vampires had hit several of the after theater night clubs, mixing with the wide variety of people, giving their opinions on everything from the financial state of the American Ballet Theater to whether or not tutus were really needed in Love, Valor and Compassion. The regulars had kept an eye on them, wondering if they were "angels" with money for backing new projects or just your average New York businessmen with more schemes than money on their hands. They had left the clubs about three, flying over the Big Apple, taking a tour by air of the city, looking at what had changed and what had stayed the same since the last time they had been there. Nick had turned quickly, surprising LaCroix, who had found him hovering in front of the statue of liberty. The Lady had looked pretty good, a recent refurbishment taking some of the signs of age away, not letting the decay show, much like the night sky did for the city Lady Liberty watched over. "The decay shows, young Nicholas. As with all things mortal, all things _human_, the decay is there, and age just lets it show." "And people, _humans_, work to stop it." "Then they are doomed to failure." LaCroix laughed at him in his mind and took his hand, leading him back to the concrete jungle. "Come with me." The rest of the night hours had been spent walking the streets, commenting on new construction, old buildings being refitted to the modern era. Their seemingly random path took them into crumbling neighborhoods, small, dark streets, places where the homeless, the lost, came to find places to sleep, to prepare themselves for another day of survival in the city. While LaCroix said nothing, his mind was pressuring Nicholas to see the easy prey, to construct the hunt in his mind. By the time they were at LaCroix's apartment, the struggle of wills had stopped all of their outward signs of conversation and the night doorman saw the two vampires move into the building silently, just before the dawn. As Nick remembered the previous night, he also felt the incredible weariness attacking his body. He had not slept in a couple of nights which, usually, should not have been much of a problem, but he had not fed either. Considering his dilemma, he reached no conclusion before he dozed off, sitting upright in the comfortable armchair. LaCroix came into the second bedroom, and found Nicholas fully dressed and asleep in the chair furthest from the bed. He quickly picked his son up, dressed him in black silk pajamas and got him into bed, smoothing the furrows on his brow, moving a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. *New York City, June 19, 3 p.m. "Drink Nicholas" LaCroix held the sleeping vampire's head up, a glass poised at his lips. Nicholas, even in his sleep, showed his daily internal struggle by moving near the scent of the blood and then turning away, mumbling "No..no". LaCroix lay his child back down, putting the glass of human blood at the edge of the night stand and left the darkened room, a small grin on his face. *New York City, June 20, 2 a.m. After going to see Love, Valor and Compassion, LaCroix felt like adding some comments supporting the tutus. Going to one of the clubs they had visited the night before, Nick found himself is a dark corner with two women _very_ interested in his opinion on just about anything. LaCroix rescued him, or rather, rescued the underdressed ladies, when he saw his hungry son become restless. As they walked home, LaCroix took a side trip to hunt for a fresh meal, not commenting when Nicholas did not follow suit. *New York City, June 20, 3 p.m. "Drink Nicholas" LaCroix held the sleeping vampire's head up, a glass poised at his lips. Nicholas, even in his restless sleep, showed signs of his true nature. His eyes opened and glowed yellow and the scent of the glass in front of him, but his subconscious pulled tight on the reins of his control, making his eyes blue and turning his sleeping face away from the thing that would sate his hunger. LaCroix lay his child back down, putting the glass of human blood at the edge of the night stand. He bent to kiss Nick's forehead, pausing at the taste of the bloodsweat brought by his conflicting dreams. LaCroix then leaned down to his son's neck, eyes glowing, and took some of his child's dwindling blood supply into himself. *New York City, June 21, 4 a.m. "Check" LaCroix's soft declaration came as he moved his black queen in striking distance of Nicholas' unprotected king. The two sat in an old-fashioned men's club, playing chess and sipping red wine. Nicholas had a sneaking suspicion that LaCroix had kept a membership in this anachronism since the late 1870's, but he couldn't be sure, he might have let it lapse on occasion. The wood paneling and dark draperies spoke of age, as did the scent of tobacco and wine and furniture polish. Nick sighed as he rested his tired body in the comfortable armchair and tipped his white king in defeat. *Toronto, June 21 2 p.m. Natalie Lambert hesitated, then knocked on the door in front of her. It was connected to a large old farm house in Richmond Hill insulated by just enough land that you could forget that you were almost in the city of Toronto. The knock was answered by a young girl, about ten years old or so. "Hello, I'm looking for Miss Cantrell. Is she here?" The girl nodded once and put her hand up, indication the Nat should wait outside of the screen door as she looked for Cantrell. Two minutes later, she could hear footstep approaching. "Hello. Miss..." "Dr. Lambert, Natalie Lambert. May I come in and talk to you?" Beth Cantrell had been hired by the de Brabant foundation to take care of Donna Varicek, a young woman who been the victim of years of abuse by her father and who had been the only witness, by phone, to a murder her father had committed. Nick had made sure that there had been arrangements made to give the woman a chance at a normal life. As Nat and Beth Cantrell sat in a small sitting room, Nat asked how Donna was doing. "Very well, Dr. Lambert, all things considered. She is twenty two and has a high I.Q., but her social skills and formal education put her at about the same level as a 12 year old. I suspect that in a few months things will be very different. She is incredibly ready, willing, to learn." "And emotionally?" Cantrell paused, "That's harder. She has to learn to trust in herself, to see herself as she is, not as how she was made to feel. Every small step counts. I think that maybe next week we will go on a shopping trip and let her pick out some clothes. Sometimes she is too scared to make any choices, but we _are_ getting there." Cantrell stopped to listen to the house for a second, then excused herself. Ten minutes late she was back with tea. "Well, one small crisis over spilling a soup bowl averted." She handed Natalie a cup. "Natalie, right?" "Yes. Beth?" Cantrell nodded. "Now Natalie, that I have given you lots of information that I probably didn't have to, why are you here? Certainly not a case follow up. The coroner?" "No, your right. I came because if the people working for the de Brabant foundation trust you, you've got to be good. I have a hypothetical problem." Beth leaned back with her tea in her hands, listening carefully. "What if Donna's father wasn't killed, but she came here anyways and was taught how to live in society without him. Lets say she fully recovers and get an education, gets a job, has a normal life." "So far, so good. She can easily do all of these things" Nat took a breath. "O.k.. Now, lets say that for some reason, several years from now, she was force into having to accept an invitation by her father to go back and live with him, just for a couple weeks. Her life would be as it was the last time they lived together for that short period of time, but then she would be allowed to go back to her life. What would happen?" Beth looked hard at Natalie, trying to decide why the coroner was asking this. She gave up and closed her eyes, trying to imagine the situation just described. "I would work very hard to not get her in that situation." "What if there was nothing you could do?" Natalie's voice was barely in the hypothetical regime now. "Well," that seemed to be Beth's time delay word, "the best case is that she comes back and is able to immediately box the section of time up and forget it, except to remember that she survived it once, and will again. The worse case scenario is that in the time she is with her father, they actually set up the previous behavior patterns as before. When she comes back, she might have to start all over again. She might be a twelve-year-old, trying to get out of her house. In that case, she would not be able to re-enter her life until she could define herself again." "Define herself?" "Yes. One of the hardest things for Donna to do right now is to believe that she is an adult, that she can make adult decisions. Everyday, I make sure she looks in the mirror and tells herself that she is Donna Varicek, a 22 year-old adult who can accomplish whatever goals she sets herself." Beth finished her tea, and looked at Natalie again. "O.k., now you have to give. Who was I giving secondhand counseling to?" "A..a friend of mine. I'm going to be the first person to see him. I wanted to have a hint of what to expect." She looked worriedly out into the back yard. "Natalie, firsthand counseling is always better. Can I give you my card?" Natalie took it, then rose. "Thanks Beth. If he calls you, put it on the de Brabant foundation's bill." *New York City, June 21, 3 p.m. "Drink Nicholas" LaCroix held the sleeping vampire's head up, a glass poised at his lips. The scent of blood woke Nicholas this time, his limp body showing the signs of physical weakness that he had tried to hide at night. He did not openly refuse LaCroix, only closed his eyes to the face in front of him. LaCroix lay his child back down, kissed him on the forehead, took some of his life out of the vein in his neck, and left the room, taking the glass of blood with him. Nicholas opened his eyes as the door closed, then closed them again, not able to summon a single tear as a response to the despair he felt, barely able to speak the name out loud that he most needed to hear. "Natalie" * * * * * *Toronto, June 22 5 a.m. "Hi Nat. Beautiful night out." "Right Schanke, filled with the special perfume of day-old Chinese food fermenting in garbage cans." She threw the partnerless detective a glare to stop the dark humor. "I must say detective, you do have a mystery. Mr. Wong, age 45 was hit on the back of the head, probably with a pipe or something. No signs of a struggle, no robbery. He had a hundred dollars in his pocket. The only moderately interesting thing is this piece of tape lying on his face." "Tape? That doesn't look like a 3M product to me." "More like memorex. It's part of a cassette tape. I don't know if it was placed there, or if it blew there." "Well, bag it. If we see more of it in the alley, it was chance. If not, I guess we clean it up and see if our killer left a message." *New York City, June 22, 3 p.m. "Drink Nicholas" LaCroix held the sleeping vampire's head up, a glass poised at his lips. Nicholas drank from the glass in front of him, his eyes staring at the far wall of the room, looking anywhere but at LaCroix. LaCroix lay his child back down, leaning forward to taste the blood he had just given his son, leaving none inside the younger vampire. Again LaCroix leaned forward, his lips at Nicholas' ear. He whispered "Drink Nicholas" and let his son take some of the blood back from him. *New York City, June 23, 3 p.m. "Drink Nicholas" LaCroix held the sleeping vampire's head up, a glass poised at his lips. Nicholas quickly drank from the glass, wondering if he would keep any of it to support his weakened body. LaCroix lay his child back down, smiling at him as he brought his wrist to his mouth, tearing at it with his fangs to feed his child with himself. "Drink Nicholas" was the last thing Nicholas heard before he reached for his master's gift. *New York City, June 24, 3 p.m. "Drink Nicholas" LaCroix held the sleeping vampire's head up, a glass poised at his lips. LaCroix smiled as he saw Nicholas' fangs extend automatically, in his sleep, even though there was nothing in the glass in front of him. Yes, thought LaCroix, as he lay his child back down, my Nicholas is certainly ready now. *Toronto, June 25, 2 a.m. "Hey Nat. Beat ya here this time." "I was finishing the Evans autopsy when you called. What's the news." "Well, we've got a body. A woman, in her twenties. She might have been hooking up on the corner, but maybe not." "Hmm," the doctor's standard noise came out as Natalie bent over the body. "Blow to the head." She picked up a hand, looking under the long fingernails, "No obvious signs she put up a fight" Natalie started to rise until she saw something near the woman's neck. "Uh-oh. I think we've seen this before." Natalie reached out with a gloved hand and pulled a long piece of cassette tape away from the victim. *New York City, June 25, 5 a.m. Nicholas sat in his room, as his master had told him to. They had played go for the early part of the evening, then LaCroix had dressed to leave, telling Nicholas to stay in his room until he returned. LaCroix had helped the weak vampire to his room, placing him in the bed, pillows at his back, arms on top of the silk sheets covering his legs. Nicholas had not moved in the intervening five hours. His thought were scattered and as much as he tried to gather them together, they would become more elusive. LaCroix's blood ran in his veins, his thoughts running through Nick's mind, telling him how right this was. Saying that the darkness, the blood, the eternal gift that had been given him was all from his father, the one who would take care of him always. LaCroix entered the apartment with several people, mostly homeless men, though the young girl had been picked up near her regular corner, swiftly carried away from the watchful eye of her pimp. All but one sat quietly in the living room, waiting for their turn to die. The last man who entered, walked into Nicholas' room with LaCroix. The man sat on the bed near Nicholas, as LaCroix had done every afternoon. "Drink Nicholas". Nicholas' eyes started to glow as he focussed on the blood supply in front of him. His hand reached out to grab the man's jacket to bring him closer, but they stopped just inches away from their target. Even controlled as he was, a century of self-training was stopping Nick's body from killing the man. His hands dropped once more to his lap. "Fine" growled LaCroix. He came up behind the insensate man, picked him up by the collar and quickly drained him, breaking his neck in the process. As LaCroix dumped the body onto the floor, he moved towards Nicholas and slapped him once across the face. Hard. Then LaCroix sat, setting Nicholas against the pillows once more. He looked at the frightened vampire and gave him a little grin. He pushed the blond hair back into order and cupped the wounded cheek, leaving his wrist near Nick's fangs. "Drink Nicholas" the soft voice was easily heard by the other vampire, who immediately started to take from his master the sustenance he needed. The feel of blood pouring into his mouth lasted only a few seconds though, before LaCroix moved away. Another man moved to take LaCroix's place. The older vampire's whisper was heard again. "Drink Nicholas" Three bodies on the floor later, Nick had just enough of his master's blood inside him that the binding his master had on him had grown beyond his ability to fight. As a young girl came to sit beside him, as tears started running down his face, he obeyed his master's command. "Drink Nicholas". * * * * * *New York City, June 26, 2 a.m. Nicholas and LaCroix were again walking the streets of Manhattan. They had spent the early part of the evening touring the Museum of Natural History. It wasn't open, but they had avoided the guards easily and had taken the tapes from the security cameras before they left. LaCroix had been charming, sharing stories with Nicholas about times before he had been brought across, about men only known to the researchers as faces on coins or on funeral markers. LaCroix persuaded Nicholas to tell him of the minerals in the geology exhibits, knowing that he had picked up information on such things during his time at archaeological digs. The evening had been enjoyable, and LaCroix had been able to hold his son's psyche together, pushing down on the rising hysteria that continually threatened to break through. Now, as they walked between Port Authority and the Marine Terminal, the people sleeping in front of abandoned stores made LaCroix try to push his child just a little farther. As the neared a man sleeping in an alley, a bottle of cheap wine falling out of his hand, LaCroix stopped his son with a touch. "Drink Nicholas" he said, nudging him towards the prone figure. Nicholas moved woodenly towards the unsuspecting victim, lifted him up with one hand and pushed him against the alley wall. Just as he brought his fangs near the man, the body twitched. Nick moved a bit away, looking at the man again, held a foot off the ground. Nicholas started to shake and dropped the man, backing towards the other wall. The hold that LaCroix had on his mind vanished and Nick Knight had to look on what he was about to do, what he had done the previous night. His scream was not heard out loud, but it made LaCroix wince as he watched his child collapse to the alley floor, glowing eyes showing no sign of rational thought. *Toronto, June 26, 5 a.m. "Hey Nat" Nat was not startled by Schanke's statement, either by its content, which started most of his conversations, or by its timing, since she had heard him whistling tunelessly from down the hall. "You delivered tonight Schanke. Thanks." "This is becoming too much of a habit. What's your report going to say?" "The proverbial blunt instrument Schanke. No muss, no fuss, just an angry guy taking four or five whacks on her head." "Why a guy?" "Angles mostly. He didn't leave the weapon at the scene, probably took it with him. All the deaths have been with the same instrument or type of instrument. No signs of a struggle. The first blow probably killed her." Nat put down her scalpel and removed her gloves as she went to sit at her desk. "Any news on the tapes?" "Actually, yes. The transcripts sound weird, like some random psycho. Listen to this one: "What is greed? Not the desire for something, but the desire for _all_ of something. It is part of all of us. Should we ignore it? Call it wrong? Or should we give in to our greed. If we succeed in our quest, we might find happiness. If we fail, we get destroyed by that which we most want..." Strange guy. Anyways," Schanke was warming up to his story, and had not noticed Natalie go pale and lean back into her chair for support. "I went over and listened to the tapes and recognized the voice. It's that creepy dude that Nick always listens to in his car. The Nightghost?" "The Nightcrawler, Schanke." Nat said faintly. "Right. So, the killer could be him, or someone who wants to be him. I went to go over to CERK and tried to talk to the Nightcrawler guy. No one at the station seemed to know where he was. They said he was on vacation. How convenient." Schanke stopped, finally noticing Natalie's pallor. "What's wrong Natalie. Do you know this guy? Do you know where he is?" Natalie shook her head, then looked up at the detective. "Schanke, you met him. He was the one who came and picked up Nick. With the limo, remember??" *New York City, June 27, 4 a.m. "Drink Nicholas" LaCroix held the sleeping vampire's head up, a glass poised at his lips. Nicholas, even in his madness, followed LaCroix's command. LaCroix made him sip at the blood/wine mixture, as he had since he had flown his child back here. The wine was making him pliable again, tearing down the walls his mind had created. As LaCroix lay his child back down, he started talking again, his voice soft, his power hypnotizing his son. He was putting a mind back together, weakening many of the bonds that had kept the younger vampire in his control, making sure that the things that his Nicholas would remember most about this trip were the evenings out. Stories about the people they saw, the shows they watched, the really bad movie they had taken in were being reinforced. Fires and chess and quiet mornings shared as a family. As Nicholas' eyes changed to their light blue colour, LaCroix tousled his hair, kissed his brow, and left him with sweet dreams. *Toronto, June 28, 4 a.m. Nicholas was sitting quietly in the back of the limousine as it stopped in front of his apartment. LaCroix turned him with his hands on his shoulders. "You are home Nicholas. Consider you part of the bargain done." LaCroix moved one hand to lift Nicholas' chin. "Please feel free to come and visit whenever you like." LaCroix leaned forward to press a kiss to Nicholas' forehead. As he straightened, Nicholas followed the motion, his eyes wide even has his body betrayed him. LaCroix leaned forward once more, reaching past Nicholas to open the car door. "Good night child". As Nicholas left, LaCroix whispered so that only he could hear. "I do not want to destroy you. I _will_ bring you back to me in one piece." As the limousine left, Lucien LaCroix was already planning how best to deal with his Nicholas now. Nick took the elevator up to his apartment, stepped out and looked at his home. It shouldn't look unfamiliar, should it? He stared into the kitchen, where a box of microwave popcorn told him more about the life he had had ten days ago than any of the possessions that had been his for centuries. He did not get another step into hi rooms before he leaned against the wall, slid to the floor and let the tears come as the memories that LaCroix couldn't hide from him came crashing back, to tell him again and again what a monster he was. * * * * * *Toronto, June 28, 4 a.m. "Nat, this guy certainly seem to have a schedule." "Right. Every other night." She handed Schanke a file. "Same as before, I'm afraid. The one glimmer of hope is that there was a partial print on the tape, and that our victim was fast enough to scratch the killer. If you find the murderer, we can tie him to the killings." "My bet is still on the Nightghost dude. Are you sure you don't know where they went?" "Do you think your partner had something to do with this?" Natalie's voice grew incredulous and ice cold at the same time. "No, of course not, but even _I_ could tell he was scared when he left. He set things up like he was leaving permanently. He even left his gun at the precinct. He was afraid of that guy, LaCroix." Nat sighed, acknowledging the truths in Schanke's statements. "They should be back tonight sometime Schanke. Nick only prom.. umm." "Promised him what Nat?" "Ten days. He promised ten days." Nat moved to stand in front of the detective. "I can almost guarantee that LaCroix is not the killer. Wait until tomorrow night to bring him in. I want to try to talk to Nick first, and see how he is." "Should I go see him today Nat?" "No, Schanke. I think that would be a very bad idea." *Toronto, June 28, 4 p.m. Nat opened the elevator door to get into Nick's apartment. She looked around, not seeing any signs that the room had changed since the last time she was here, then she noticed that Nick was a step to the right and behind her, back against the wall, knees up. His shirt, what she can see of it, was covered in the blood of his tears. He was hugging his knees, rocking back and forth. She quickly moved into the room a bit, looking back at him. "Nick? Nick? It's Nat." She was waiting to see if she would get any kind of reaction from him. What she got was almost worse than anything she cold have imagined. The vampire raised his head, snarling at her, fangs extended, eyes red with bloodlust. He leaned forward, letting his hand support his upper body. Nat was not truly prepared for the animal that was looking at her as dinner, but she was prepared for a little vampire avoiding. She raised her hand, holding the cross given to Nick by Joan of Arc. He immediately backed away from it, cringing at the sight of the ancient Christian symbol. Nat hoped she had gained some time and started talking in a soft calm voice as she moved into the kitchen and brought back a bottle from the refrigerator and a glass from a nearby cupboard. She placed the bottle near Nick and stepped back. He pounced on the blood, tearing out the cork of the bottle with his teeth and emptying the bottle in a few seconds. Nat realized that he must be dangerously low on blood, if only from the tears staining his shirt. She quickly went back to the kitchen and came back with two more bottles. The first vanished as quickly as the second. The third was only half finished when she heard him come up for air. She had partially turned away, not wanting to watch him feed. Nick was staring down at the bottle in his hand when she turned around, a bit of a wince showing on his face. "It's cow Nick". Nat's words were sharp, and a bit cutting because she saw that he barely recognized that taste. She wanted him off of blood totally, but if she had to start by getting him off of human blood again, she didn't know if she could do it. "Nat?" his voice is weak, but as he raised his head, she saw blue eyes looking at her. "Yes Nick, its me." Recognition was a start. She moved carefully, drawing close to him to help him up. "Come on Nick, let's get you cleaned up. Your going to have to put in a cameo at the department tonight, if possible." *Toronto, June 29, 12 a.m. Nick walked into the station house, wearing a long black cotton trench coat against the damp of the summer's evening. It also helped disguise the faltering steps he took as he walked into the room full of heartbeats. He didn't look at anyone, but moved towards his desk. He heard Captain Cohen called his name and detoured to her office. "Have a seat, Detective Knight." Nick sat in the chair wedge between a wall and a filing cabinet. Cohen usually pulled it out if she had more than two guests. She studied Knight for a moment. He was dressed well as usual, in a suit and vest under his trench coat and was clean shaven, which was not always the case, but was always nice. Past that, he looked like hell. His usually pale skin was grey, his eyes were wide and moved restlessly across the room, and his hands had not moved out of the pockets of his coat. She suspected they were shaking. He looked like someone in need of a fix or, she thought as she looked again, he had all of the signs of shock a rape victim carries. She definitely did not want to know what had happened to him over the last ten days, but she had to ask some questions. "I guess you've heard about the series of killings that have happened over the last few days. Recordings of radio shows by the 'Nightcrawler' have appeared at every crime scene." She paused to she what reaction she was getting. None. Hmm. "Mr. LaCroix, who hosts the radio show, is being questioned by Detective Schanke right now. He says that you and he were in New York City for the last ten days. Is that correct Detective Knight?" She paused as someone came to the door and Nick jumped, pressing himself farther into the corner. "Nick" "Um..Yes. We were in New York. Ten days. Charter plane. He probably has our theater tickets." Nick was not looking at her, but staring out the window behind her. "Nick?" She finally got his attention. "That's fine. Dr. Lambert was also leaning away from Mr. LaCroix being the culprit. This means that the killer is probably one of his listeners. We really need some sort of angle to get Mr. LaCroix's cooperation." She stood. "I have to leave for a few minutes. Why don't you sit here and think about it." She laid the case file near Nick's chair and left the office, closing the door behind her. Nick took a deep breath and unclenched his fists, finally letting his curiosity overcome his fear of LaCroix's presence and reached for the file. Schanke reentered the interview room, looking at LaCroix. He was dressed completely in black, only a pin shaped like a sword at his collar breaking the monochrome dress. He was calm, patient, as he had been ever since he had been brought in, three hours ago. "O.K., Mr. LaCroix, let's start again. Do you have any idea why someone would leave recordings of your show on top of dead bodies." "I have no clue Detective, do you?" "Have you ever had anyone call you, saying that they were going to kill someone, maybe saying they were going to kill you?" "Detective, my listeners are many and varied. Some are upset. That is what the night is about, about what happens when you let your guard down. On the other hand, I have received no death threats. No one has told me that they were planning a felony of any sort." "Where were you on the nights of June 22nd, 24th, 26th and 28th?" "As I have told you before, I was in New York with your partner, Detective Knight. He will be able to give you this information." "He is so screwed up he probably couldn't tell me what year it was. What the hell did you do to him?!" Schanke leaned over LaCroix, his composure gone. LaCroix wince a bit at the garlic on Schanke's breath but stayed calm, and said nothing. Cohen knocked on the one way glass, and Schanke stormed out of the interview room, seething. A soft knock warned Nick that someone was coming into Cohen's office. Schanke's head appeared from around the door. "Hey partner, good to see you back." Schanke noticed the file open on Nick's lap, and the notes that Nick was making on it. "Catching up already? What have you got?" Nick glanced up for a second, then passed the file to Schanke. "Get him to give you the days and times when these were first broadcast." The top page in the file was a transcript of the tapes found on the victims. "I knew ball park figures for two of them. Check to see if there were calls from the same person or something that night. He might will be able to tell you if he received calls from the same person." "Do you think that he can remember something like that?" "He can." Nick's dead voice made Schanke a believer, but also had him worrying about his friend. Captain Cohen came into the office and got a nod from Schanke as he left. She sat at her desk and ignored Knight, who seemed please to go back to staring at the wall. She waited about five minutes. She knew that Schanke would give LaCroix a bit of a hard time again, but it looked like he deserved it. He would then leave him alone, giving him some time to phone his secretary about the transcripts. She saw Schanke wave from the interview room as he left to go behind the oneway glass. thirty seconds later, Nick's phone rang in his coat. It took him a ring to figure out what the noise was and Cohen was in front of him as he pulled the noisy instrument from his coat pocket. She raised a finger to her lips and took the phone. "Yes?" She kept the word short. "Nicholas, what do you think you're doing?" "This is Captain Cohen, Mr. LaCroix. You were asked to call your secretary." She ended the call and handed the phone back to Nick. She almost saw him grin. As she turned back to her work, she said "Why don't you go over to the coroner's office Knight. The latest autopsy report on these murders should be ready. Take your time." Nick said nothing as he left the room. * * * * * The problem is, I like happy endings...... *Toronto, June 29, 2 a.m. When Nick came back from coroner's office, a pep talk from Nat and a during-shift snack of beef had steadied him somewhat. LaCroix was gone, he recognized immediately, and Schanke's enthusiasm on the phone told him that they had a name. "Hey pard", started Schanke before Nick got within five feet of his desk, "that LaCroix creep came through. We have three names of people who called in all of those four time periods. We have uniforms going to those addresses now, hoping that none of them are not going to kill until tomorrow night, if the perp's schedule is rigid. We also have a few extra unmarked car cruising Queen, to see if anything odd is happening. Want to join them?" "Sure Schanke" Caught up by his partner's fast talk, Nick was sitting at his desk, giving the same answers as always. "Okey dokey. Let's go. I'll drive." Schanke had moved two steps away from his desk then he stopped to look a Nick. "Bring your gun." A wink, then he was gone, leaving Nick rushing to follow his partner out the door. "So, why are we here near the CERK building instead of checking out the action, _and_ the souvlaki stands, on Queen street west?" "Well Schanke, what if this guy thinks he _is_ the Nightcrawler? Maybe he hangs out here on his off nights, practicing or something?" "It's possible. Whoever this psycho is, I don't think he could be creepier than the _real_ Nightcrawler guy. Now there's someone who's seen too many Vincent Price flicks." Schanke realized that, yet again, he had stuck his whole size 10 in his mouth. Hopefully Nick bought the lame attempt of humor at the end. Before he could come up with something else to say, Nick stiffened. "Stop the car Schanke." Nick jumped out of the car and into an alley a block down from the CERK building. As Schanke ran into the alley, gun drawn, he saw Nick with one hand holding a man, face first, to a wall and the other holding the end of a lead pipe. The man was shouting. "I am the Nightcrawler! I am the Nightcrawler!" "Not a chance, buddy boy. Here Nick, let me cuff him." Schanke looked at his partner. "How did you know he was here?" "He was spouting one of the Nightcrawler's monologues." Nick lifted the pipe. "Look like a blunt instrument to you?" They had to endure ten minutes of Joey Vincent's ranting before backup came to take him away. The man had finally decided that maybe he wasn't the Nightcrawler and was now coming up with new and interesting excuses for his behavior. "He told me to kill. The Nightcrawler knows everything, and he told me". Schanke only snorted at the man's delusions as he watched over their captive sitting on the curb. Nick could only hear LaCroix's voice echoing in his mind "Drink, Nicholas". As soon as the first set of flashing lights changed the colour of the street, Nick turned to Schanke and said ""I'm going home" and started walking away. * * * * * Four nights later, after Nick's two week "vacation" was truly over, he was back at his desk, feeling like he could probably go the whole shift without needing to go outside for a quick snack. Nick was finishing some paperwork when he felt LaCroix come in. He did not turn, did not raise his head as LaCroix moved next to his desk. "Detective Knight?" The recognition of his career was enough to make his head turn. "I came to offer my congratulations on finding the killer. You did well." "It's my job, LaCroix" LaCroix coughed, to dispel the ice around Nick's reply. "Well, yes it is." LaCroix seemed to almost shuffle his feet, uncomfortable. "This is _really_ where you want to be, isn't it." Nick nodded. "Well, you will bore of it eventually. I can wait." Without another word, LaCroix left a box on his desk and left the police station. The box was made of a dark wood, about fourteen inches long , eight inches wide and four inches high. There was a brass clasp holding it shut, made with the script letter 'L'. Nick looked at the box, and moved to set it aside. "Well, aren't you going to open it?" Schanke looked impatient from across their paperwork. Nick tilted his head, hesitant, then opened the clasp. Inside was a bottle of 'wine' whose cork had been removed and then replaced upside down so that the aroma of the fluid was rising from the box. Nick wanted to pull back, afraid of what it was, but then he stopped. The bottle contained an exceptionally good cabernet sauvignon cut with _cow's_ blood. Maybe it was an apology from LaCroix. Well, an apology of sorts, Nick corrected himself as he saw what was nestled in packing beside the bottle. Schanke took the cup from Nick's hands as he removed it from the box. "What's this?" "Uh, Schanke? Be careful with that. It's almost two thousand years old. Read the label." Schanke's hands became gentle but he looked confused. "Label? Oh, this imprint thingy. What does it say?" "Trajan." Schanke gave Nick a blank look. "Don't you know your Roman emperors, Schanke?" "Um... no. Was it on the detective's exam?" The next afternoon, Nick stopped playing at the piano as he heard the elevator door open, revealing Natalie. Nick smiled at her, weary, sad, but together. He lead her to one of the couch, and made his voice very casual. "I talked to Beth Cantrell today. A very subtle placement of her card, I must say." Natalie blushed at remembering putting the counselor's card in the fridge. "My name is Nick Knight, for now, and I am an 800 year old adult who can accomplish any goal I set for myself." His grinned was more like the Nick she knew. As they sat, she asked one serious question, before getting to the real purpose of her visit on their night off. "Do you believe it?" "Almost" he replied as she hugged him, then handed him a present. "Well then, Detective Knight, are you up for a final release of the Star Wars trilogy marathon?" He looked at the Roman cup, half filled and sitting abandoned at the piano. "Yeah, I think I'm up for that". * * * * * * The End Please send any comments, etc.. to hanlan@astro.lsa.umich.edu.